


Bristles

by ohstars



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Aunt Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Service Dogs, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars
Summary: Bucky Barnes hasn't been home for long. With his trusty service dog, Cooper, Bucky's just barely able to survive. He's isolated himself from everyone he knows except for his therapist and doctors. He's content with it, but Dr. Coulson isn't. When he challenges Bucky to speak up and be more social, Bucky has to bite the bullet and put himself out there.Steve Rogers is busy. He's teaching an art class, he's working on commissions, and he's trying to make a name for himself. He has ZERO time for a social life, much less a romantic life, much to his Aunt Peggy's dismay. So when he forgets a little white lie he told his sweet aunt, Steve has to scramble to cover his ass.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	Bristles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> This is so long overdue. This story was written for Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, for Kalika_999 and I'm so excited for you to read it! 
> 
> Chapters will be posted weekly.

Bucky Barnes does not do sunlight. Okay, that’s a lie, but he really does not do early mornings, and the fact that Cooper knows he can wake him by just moving the curtains is utter bullshit. 

Cooper lays his head on the edge of the bed, wet nose pressing against Bucky’s cheek as if the light wasn't bad enough. He whines, pushing gently. If Bucky doesn’t get up now, Cooper will climb in next to him. And if he does that, he  _ will _ push Bucky onto the floor. The joys of having a Great Dane. 

“Okay,” Bucky mumbles, voice hoarse and deep from sleep. “Give me five and we’ll go.”

That seems to please Cooper as his feet pitter-patter in place against the floor. Happy feet. He quickly scampers into the bathroom and brings out Bucky’s bucket. Cooper sets it on the bed beside Bucky as he sits up, rubbing his face. He feels scraggly, beard untrimmed and longer than it has been in a while and his skin like sandpaper against his hand. 

“Thanks, bud,” Bucky says as he takes the bucket. The water bottle sloshes with the movement. It’s nearly empty, he’ll need to refill it. Several orange pill bottles with easy-open lids rest at the bottom of the bucket, rattling and clanking against one another. Bucky sighs. He absolutely hates how much medicine he has to take just to stop the void from collapsing in on himself--

Cooper harrumphs as he sits down beside the bed. He’s trying to be patient, Bucky can tell, but he also needs to get outside before the dam breaks loose. 

Bucky’s quick to take what he needs first thing in the morning and hands the bucket back over to Cooper, who deposits it onto the bathroom counter with practiced ease. He trots back to help Bucky out of bed, offering his head for Bucky to use as support. Bucky’s gotten to a point where he doesn’t need the help, but it’s nice to have it on the tough mornings, so he doesn’t say anything to Cooper. Not that he’d understand. He’s a dog after all. 

And with that, they go about their morning routine. Bucky gets dressed in his baggiest sweatshirt possible and pins the left sleeve inside his front pocket, adding to the illusion that he has his left arm, and fills up Cooper’s bowls, then they head downstairs for a quick potty break for Coop. They walk a block before they head back upstairs for breakfast and to actually get ready for the day. 

It’s a simple routine, but going through the motions already has Bucky feeling grounded for the day. Granted, it’s not like he has much to do today anyway. 

Wednesday’s mean therapy. All day. With that in mind, he decides it’s a no-arm kind of day. 

Bucky tightens the straps on Cooper’s service-dog vest and grabs their bookbag. He double-checks they have all of their snacks (treats for Cooper, protein bars for Bucky) and enough water for the two to share, as well as Bucky’s emergency medication in case something happens. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky says as he grabs his wallet and keys. 

They walk down the hall and Cooper sits patiently as they wait for the elevator to open. Bucky rests his hand on his head, focusing on the warmth and the softness of his speckled fur. He needs a bath, but Bucky can’t do that with one hand, even if Cooper is the best-behaved dog he’s ever seen. 

Stepping into the elevator, Bucky presses the ground floor button quickly. Cooper sits on his feet, but Bucky doesn’t mind. Other vets at the VA don’t understand why he’d choose a dog so big, not when golden retrievers or other large dogs would do the trick just fine for balance. But sometimes, Bucky just needs to feel small and taken care of and that’s what Cooper does with his giant paws and huge eyes. 

The doors start to close as a pounding of footsteps echoes down the hall. Bucky’s heart races and Cooper’s instantly on his feet, nudging Bucky’s hand. “Hold the elevator!” Bucky lets out a deep breath and stops the doors with his arm, holding them back for--

It’s his neighbor: Paint Splatter. 

Paint Splatter is a twink. Maybe that’s not the most progressive or appropriate way of describing his neighbor, but it fits him. Plus, he’s definitely seen Paint Splatter wearing a “Twinks Run the World” shirt covered in paint many times. Granted, he’s always covered in paint, hence the name Paint Splatter. So it’s fair. 

He’s a cute kid, with soft blond hair that’s always in his eyes and too long nine times out of ten. He says kid as if Paint Splatter isn’t his age, mid-to-late twenties, but there’s… Bucky doesn’t feel his age. This is supposed to be the time of his life, but he feels like he’s aged twenty years in the past seven. All this to say, he’s a bit out of touch. 

“Thanks,” Paint Splatter says as he leans against the railing, out of breath. He’s dressed in overalls, a muscle shirt underneath, and once again, covered in paint. Bucky wonders if he’s constantly painting or just never washes his clothes. Paint Splatter digs around in his pocket and pulls out an inhaler. With a quick shake, he takes a deep puff and pockets it. “I forgot I was teaching a class,” he says. 

Bucky nods, watching the numbers tick down as the elevator starts its descent. 

Cooper shifts to stand in between Bucky and Paint Splatter, sitting down with a quiet thump. He watches Paint Splatter, eyeing his every move. 

“Is that a new vest, Cooper? It looks very dashing,” Paint Splatter says. Unlike most people, he doesn’t reach out to pet the Great Dane. Instead, he gives him extra space. 

Cooper can’t help but wag his tail, though. He may be on duty, but the guy still likes attention. 

Bucky huffs a laugh, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Paint Splatter fidgets the whole way down. It makes Bucky anxious, which in turn makes Cooper on edge and ready for action. 

“Thanks again,” Paint Splatter says as the doors start to slide open. He books it out of the elevator and through the lobby, disappearing before Bucky can step out of the elevator. 

He lets out a deep breath and pets Cooper, who nuzzles against his hand. “Maybe we should make a note to leave early on Wednesdays. Whatcha think?” Bucky mumbles to Cooper as they start to wander out of the lobby. Paint Splatter is nice enough, but he’s too much for Bucky and Cooper. It’s best to avoid him at all costs. 

\-- -- -- -- 

Steve adjusts his baggy overalls once more as he cleans his brushes. None of these kids know how to properly take care of them and if he has to throw away another set of perfectly good Blick brushes. They may not be expensive, but Steve’s barely able to afford enough for himself, he sure as hell can’t afford to replace the classroom brushes. 

“Three more months,” he whispers as he rinses the brushes once more. Paint still flows from between the bristles, turning the water a murky brown as the colors flow together down the drain. He’d taken this job at the request of his mentor Abraham since he’d graduated and didn’t have many art-related options. But that doesn’t mean he enjoys teaching. 

Well, he likes most of it. He really likes the kids, each of them embracing their creativity in some form or another. And he likes experimenting with different art forms each week, taking him back to the roots of what makes art. It’s nice and can be really relaxing, but at the same time, Steve doesn’t have the patience to clean up and babysit, basically. 

He feels like his head is spinning with everything he has to do as he glances around the classroom. Steve’s almost shocked there aren’t more handprints along the walls than he currently sees. He’ll scrub those next. 

Steve dries his hands as his phone rings, a sharp squawking bird ringtone he absolutely despises. It makes him smile. “Hey Ma,” he answers. 

“Stevie!” Sarah laughs into the phone, her Irish accent thick and warm to his ears. “How was class?”

“Good. Georgie didn’t spill anything, so we’re making progress.” Steve shoulders the phone and heads over to the drying paint on his walls. “If you saw my classroom right now, you’d think I taught pre-schoolers, Ma.” 

“High schoolers can be just as mischievous with paint, my dear. I remember a certain boy who loved to paint my walls well into his senior year.” 

Steve blushes. “When you put it like that…” 

Sarah laughs again. “Are you doing well? Eating okay? How’s your breathing?”

“All good, Ma. Seriously. I may not be fully functional, but I can take care of myself.” 

“If you say so.” 

Steve holds in a grunt as he kneels down to get the handprint. He swears if he catches Ryan Fitzgerald painting his hands tomorrow, he’s making him scrub it all away with a fucking toothbrush. Steve doesn’t know what hurts more, his knees or his back. “So what’s the deal?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Ma, you never call during school hours. What’s going on?” 

Sarah sighs. “Well,” she starts, letting it hang in silence. 

Steve sits up. “Ma, spill it.” 

“You know how my hours are getting out of hand at the hospital with my promotion?”

“Yeah?” Steve takes a deep breath. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“Well, your Aunt Peggy was going to stay with me, like she usually does, but the poor thing needs help getting up and down my stairs so if I’m not home often, she’s stuck in the house. And you know Peggy likes her walks.” 

Steve runs a hand over his hair. “Yeah, I know,” he sighs. 

She keeps talking before he can say anything, “And before you say it, I already talked with Sharon but Sharon is going on a business trip to Spain, so she can’t host Aunt Peggy. Which only leaves you.” 

“Does it? Cause I’m sure Abraham or Howard wouldn’t mind--”

“Steve,” Sarah warns, “her plane lands tomorrow and I already told her you’d love to have her for the week.” 

“Ma!” 

Sarah tuts down the line. “You know your dear Aunt Peggy loves ya, Steve. She’d be more comfortable staying with you than Abraham or Howard. And don’t even think to suggest Tony. I know he’s a good man, but I don’t trust he keeps his place as clean as you do Stevie.” 

“Ma, have you seen my place?” Steve tries not to picture the pile of dirty dishes or the fact he still has half of his furniture against one wall in a giant mountain of things so he could work on this one sculpture idea the principal commissioned him for. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t live in a studio apartment. 

“Yes, but I know I raised you right and you’ll have it looking good as new for Peggy. I can’t say the same for Tony.” Sarah sighs. 

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, Ma. I’ll pick Aunt Peggy up tomorrow. Just send me her information and I’ll make sure she’s settled.”

Sarah laughs again. “Oh, thank you! Let me forward you her flight details. I’ll talk with you tomorrow, okay? Have a good day, sweetheart!” She hangs up with a click and leaves Steve, on his knees, in the middle of his classroom trying to figure out how he’s going to get his life in order to host his aunt. 

\-- -- -- -- 

Bucky sits down on the stale, peeling leather couch. Cooper lays at his feet, watching the other man wearily. He’s not sure why Cooper doesn’t seem to like Dr. Coulson, but there’s something about him that sets Cooper on edge. (Some small part of his brain knows Cooper’s response is mirroring his own, but Bucky would rather ignore his mental status than tackle it head-on.)

“How are you doing today, Bucky?” Dr. Coulson says as he crosses his legs, pen poised over his 

“Fine,” Bucky says. 

Dr. Coulson nods. “I noticed you aren’t wearing your prosthesis?”

Bucky tugs on his empty sleeve. “Didn’t feel like it.” 

“You didn’t wear it to our last session either, though. How does that make you feel?”

“It hurts, okay?” Bucky huffs. He likes Coulson, he does. He may not like his smug face when he knows he’s getting Bucky to fess up or the way he always pushes him to say what he really feels, but Bucky’s not an ass, he can admit when someone is doing something good. And Coulson is. He pushes Bucky in a way that doesn’t make him want to punch in the wall, but also doesn’t hold back on him, 

Dr. Coulson’s brow furrows. “It hurts? I thought this one was working better than the original prosthesis you tried?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, but that don’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” 

“I see. Have you talked to your doctor about this?” Dr. Coulson jots something down on his notepad that makes Bucky’s gut twist with anxiety. He always hates not knowing what Coulson’s writing, a stupid analysis of his dumb brain. 

He pauses for a beat. Bucky knows that if he doesn’t answer, he’s answering anyways. Yet he can’t bring himself to admit that he hasn’t told Cho a damn thing about this new prosthesis. 

Coulson sighs. “Bucky, you promised you’d be more open with Dr. Cho. Helen only wants to help, you know that. Look what happened with your first prosthesis. You told her it was unbearable and she got you another, better model. What is holding you back from doing the same thing this time?”

Bucky picks at the leather couch. He can feel Coulson watching him, knows just how much he hates when Bucky does that. 

Cooper seems to notice too since he sits up and rests his head in Bucky’s lap. He nudges Bucky’s hand and noses his way underneath it. 

He can’t help but smile at the pup. 

“Cho said this was the best model they could offer with my insurance and my situation. I can’t afford a better model.” Bucky looks up and sees nothing on Coulson’s face, the bastard. “So what’s the point of complaining when it won’t get me anywhere?”

“I see where you’re coming from, but if your discomfort is leading you to not wearing the arm more often than not, then you may need a different model or fitting anyway. Will you at least let her know your concerns on your next appointment?” He checks something in Bucky’s folder. “You’re going to her on Monday, correct?” 

Bucky nods.

“Okay, so next session, you’ll come back with an answer. It’s your new mission, Barnes.”

Bucky bristles. Coulson knows he can’t deny a mission, even fake ones like this. “Fine.” 

“Good. Now how did your week go?” 

“Same as usual.”

“And the status of your main mission?” Dr. Coulson asks, switching his legs. 

Bucky gnaws at his lip. “Unchanged.” 

“Barnes, you made a promise that you’d talk to three new people that are not related to the VA by the end of the month. I know we live in an age where isolation is becoming easier and easier, but challenge yourself. When you’re grocery shopping, skip the self-checkout and go to a cashier instead. Going to the pet store? Ask someone for advice on treats for Cooper, even if you don’t actually need it. When you’re in the waiting room, speak with another patient. As long as they’re new, I’ll count it if they’re in the VA.” Coulson leans forward. “Is that doable?” 

Bucky sighs and nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“Okay, so you have two missions. I want status reports on both next session, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Good. How’s your sleep going?” 

\-- -- -- -- 

Steve drums against the steering wheel. He hates this car, but not more than he hates driving. He only ever drives for road trips and on special occasions, occasions like picking up his elderly Aunt Peggy from the airport. 

Aunt Peggy is a fierce lady. Steve loves her with everything in him, but she can be a handful. She was always getting into trouble for the right reasons when she was younger, something she passed on to Steve pretty early in his life. She has something bright about her, a light that fills the room with such power and grace that it’s hard to believe she’s real. 

Usually, Steve would be looking forward to her visits, but this time? Steve would rather walk into oncoming traffic than host her in his cramped, still somewhat untidy apartment. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but his life is so busy with his classes and his commissions, and Tony’s really trying to get him into a gallery, so there’s just too much going on for Aunt Peggy to fit into his life right now. 

The car door opens and Aunt Peggy takes her place in his passenger seat. She looks great, hair tucked back in her infamous Victory Rolls and her lips their permanent shade of Hollywood red. Peggy hasn’t let her age slow her down from being in her best dress. 

“Aunt Peggy! You were supposed to call when you landed. I was going to come meet you to get your bags.” Steve jumps out of the driver’s seat and hurries to put her bags in the trunk of his sedan. 

Peggy laughs, waving a hand out the window. “Nonsense. I can still handle myself, Steven. You haven’t forgotten that like your mother seems to, have you?” 

“Never,” Steve huffs as he closes the trunk and heads back to his seat. As quickly as he can, he settles in and pulls out of the parking space, heading toward his apartment building in Brooklyn. 

“Your mother tells me your art is picking up,” Peggy starts, polished nails tapping against her purse.

Steve shrugs. “Sort of. I have a few commissions lined up, but nothing major right now.” 

Peggy reaches over to pat his hand. “You’ll get there. You just have to pay your dues within the community and then you’ll prosper.” 

“Very true,” Steve says. 

She hums, and Steve’s veins grow cold. He knows that noise better than most. It’s her Big Question noise, the little hum she makes before she asks something prying or invasive. 

Steve groans. “Just ask it,” he says. 

Peggy smirks. “How’s your boyfriend?” 

Boyfriend? Steve decidedly does not have a boyfriend. He hasn’t had a boyfriend since he and Sam experimented junior year of college, and that was only because everyone kept saying they should date (Steve and Sam did not work out, but they’re still best friends -- Steve really thinks everyone suggested they date just because they were so close… and the only single people in their friend group). He’s been dating around ever since, keeping things casual. He doesn’t have time for anything serious, nor is he ready for that. Not when he has a whole life ahead of him.

So he asks, “Boyfriend?” 

“Oh, Steven, don’t tell me you’ve already broken it off with him?” 

And then it hits him. 

Last month, when Peggy had called to congratulate Steve on his newest commission being a success, she had asked if he was seeing someone. She had asked his oh-so-important question as his friends had surprised him with enough booze and pizzas to last them a weekend. So, Steve had replied with a distracted, “Yup, sure do, Aunt Peggy. I have to go, talk soon!”

Fuck. 

Steve gasps. “Oh! Right. No, we’re still together,” he says, eyes trained on the road ahead. “We just don’t do labels, that’s why I got confused.” 

Peggy hums. She doesn’t believe him, he can see it clear as day in his peripheral vision that she’s unimpressed. “When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon, I promise. I’ll see if he’d like to join us for dinner sometime this week. But really, Aunt Peggy, I’m not sure if we’re ready for him to meet everyone. He hasn’t even met Mom yet.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Peggy huffs. “If you’re going to be seeing this boy, then your mother and I should meet him. Bring him over tomorrow for dinner, I’ll make sure your mother knows and we’ll have a nice family meal together.” 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “Sure thing, Aunt Peggy. I’ll text him as soon as we get home.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

_ Fuckity fuck!  _

What did he just do?

  
  



End file.
